


streetwise

by lunavagant



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ankh-Morpork City Watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunavagant/pseuds/lunavagant
Summary: "Ye gods, man” Vimes grimaced, moving the coffee mug away from his face to scowl at it like it had personally offended him. “What did you put in this?”Constable Fiddle blinked at him. “It’s sugar, sir.”Vimes made a face usually only reserved for very special occasions, like looking for missing evidence in a public privy, or finding an unexpected vegetable in his bacon sandwich.A slice from a (more or less) ordinary day in the Watch.
Relationships: Angua von Uberwald & Samuel Vimes
Comments: 29
Kudos: 67
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	streetwise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).



Somewhere in the starry depths of space, where, it is fabled, one may actually succeed in finding some proverbial peace and quiet, one of the four giant elephants standing on the back of Great A'Tuin lifted a leg* that had been obstructing the sun’s orbit, and dawn rose over Ankh-Morpork.  


Or so was to be assumed, at least. It would perhaps be more accurate to say that the overcast sky and the thick fog surrounding the city became more visible than before.  


On the ground floor of Pseudopolis Yard officers moved with uncharacteristic purpose for such an early hour of the morning, which may or may well not have been related to the fact that, upstairs in his office, Commander Samuel Vimes was having what any member of the Watch would have referred to as A Moment.  


A Moment was usually bad news for any watchman who might find himself in the Commander's general vicinity. To everyone's immense relief – and, inexplicably, to her apparent lack of concern – the officer in question this time happened to be Sergeant Angua.  


"This is ridiculous."  


Vimes was pacing up and down the room, a feat which required no insignificant amount of skill in order not to dislodge any of the stacks of documents precariously scattered around it.  


"He does know that we have real cases to deal with?"  


Sergeant Angua leaned against the desk and slowly crossed her arms. "I believe he does, sir."  


"Lord Selachii's son’s carriage nearly ran over a family and caused an accident in Sator Square, and we're supposed to be investigating _this _?"  
__

"The Chamber of Commerce is apparently very upset."  


Vimes seemed on the verge of saying something involving a significant number of asterisks. In the end, he settled on a change of subject.  


"Where are we on the theft at the Mended Drum?"  


"No sign of the stolen barrels so far. Apparently they where taken while everyone was distracted during the third fight of the night."  


Vimes walked up to the desk and flicked through some of the paperwork.  


"I want Littlebottom and Detritus looking into that accident in the Shambles."  


"The flying bedframe?"  


"Something doesn't smell right about that case."  


"Anything in the Shambles rarely does," said Angua, wrinkling her nose. "I'll have them on it later today."  


Vimes stopped his pacing and dragged a hand over his face. "Well," he said eventually. "Let's go through this again."  


There was a timid knock on the door, and Constable Fiddlesticks walked into the room, holding a bunch of paperwork and a steaming coffee mug in front of him like it was a shield, and looking like he'd much rather be staring down a dragon than standing where he was.  


Angua assumed he had drawn the short straw.  


"The reports on that murder in Cable Street, sir," he said, cautiously handing Vimes the papers and the coffee. “And the Ankh has caught fire again, sir. Somewhere near the Brass Bridge.”  


“Was it _set _on fire?” asked Angua.  
__

“We’re not sure yet–“  


"Ye gods, man” Vimes grimaced, moving the coffee mug away from his face to scowl at it like it had personally offended him. “What did you put in this?”  


Constable Fiddle blinked at him. “It’s sugar, sir.”  


Vimes made a face usually only reserved for very special occasions, like looking for missing evidence in a public privy, or finding an unexpected vegetable in his bacon sandwich.  


Constable Fiddle valiantly soldiered on. “There’s someone downstairs from the _Times _that’s been asking–“  
__

“I’m not in.”  


“We told him that, sir. Several times. He claims he saw you walk into the building and he’s not leaving until he speaks to you, sir.”  


Angua stepped forward to take the coffee mug from Vimes’ outstretched hand and handed it back to Constable Fiddle.  


“Send him upstairs.”  


Vimes made a non-committal grunt and went back to glaring at the paperwork.  


“With today’s luck, it'll be the bloody vampire,” he muttered, sitting down heavily at his desk as Constable Fiddle retreated out of the room.  


Then William de Worde walked in, and Vimes shot Angua a look that said, _actually, the vampire would’ve been better than this _.  
__

“Good morning, Commander,” said de Worde cheerfully. He nodded to the dark corner where Angua had retreated and was now leaning with her shoulders against the wall, arms crossed. “Sergeant.”  


Angua’s eyes followed him as he side-stepped a pile of documents and came to stand in front of the desk. And whipped out a notebook.  


“I was hoping–“  


“Let’s just get this over with,” Vimes cut in. “What is this about?”  


To de Worde’s credit, he didn't miss a beat.  


“Would you be willing to comment on the illegal smuggling of Klatchian sugar in the streets of Ankh-Morpork?”  


There was a long moment of silence. Vimes seemed to consider his options. “No.”  


“It’s my understanding that the Guild of Merchants has forwarded an official complaint to Lord Vetinari,” de Worde continued, unperturbed. “Has the Watch been instructed to open an investigation into the matter?”  


“Have we been _instructed? _”  
__

"We haven't opened an investigation," said Angua.  


"But will you?"  


Vimes stared darkly. “Where are you getting this information?”  


“I’m afraid all of my sources currently wish to remain anonymous.”  


“Of course they would.”  


Angua settled more comfortably against the wall. Direct orders had in fact come from the Patrician at an ungodly hour of the morning regarding 'public concern' around the question of the smuggling of sugar from Klatch. 'Public concern', of course, meant that the Guild of Merchants was worried about its monopoly in the business. It was a political affair – something which Vimes despised more than just about anything, with the possible exception of the newly established free press.  


De Worde was still scribbling on his notebook. “To the extent of your knowledge, is there any truth to the rumour that this non-refined Klatchian sugar may, and I quote, ‘carry the mad chimera disease’?”  


Vimes audibly groaned and leaned forward to rub at his temples.

It was shaping up to be a very long day.

**Author's Note:**

> * Most likely causing an earthquake or some other significant geological shift, which is however immaterial for the purposes of this particular story.


End file.
